I don’t feel pretty.

I feel pretty, oh so pretty. I feel pretty and witty and gay. And I pity any girl who isn’t me today.

Well, Maria, start pitying.

It’s been a strange transition. Going from feeling pretty damn good about myself, all that self-esteem… to just feeling like crap. I don’t feel pretty.

Getting dressed is no longer about feeling good about myself, it’s about what’s going to cause the least amount of pressure on my abdomen. I’m just now able to wear my jeans again, but haven’t wanted to try adding the belt. If I don’t have to leave the house, it’s sweatpants. I mean, yes, you can look great and be comfortable — I’ve seen enough of TLC’s What Not to Wear to know that.

But the exterior can’t mask the interior. I’m uncomfortable. I’m in pain more often than not. I can tolerate a lot of it, sometimes only with the assistance medication.

I miss feeling sexy. I mean, it’s not that I’m uninterested in sex. But, well, when everything down there makes me not even want to be awake… The whole pain to pleasure ratio ruins everything. And that all sucks.

At this point, I don’t really care if it’s endo or not. I just want to know what’s going on and start working on feeling great again. I wouldn’t say that I’m depressed. There are some great things going on in my life. But it still doesn’t change the fact that I just want to curl up with a heat pad and hide under my quilt.

See that pretty girl in the mirror there? Who can that attractive girl be? Eh…

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